


Deify

by cuddlesome



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Belly Rubs, Body Worship, During Canon, F/M, Moving Tattoo(s), Muscles, Power Imbalance, Vanity, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesome/pseuds/cuddlesome
Summary: Moana should have known Maui would jump at the opportunity to have his huge ego (and bod) stroked.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disney's designs of their female main characters are like, "IS SHE FOURTEEN? IS SHE TWENTY-FOUR? IT'S A MYSTERY, AND YOU, THE AUDIENCE, ARE MURDER VICTIMS IN THE SUBPLOT!" Yeah, I didn't realize how young Moana is. I gave this fic the according Archive Warning when I found out. Please direct any accusations to disneytrickedme@gmail.com.
> 
> That aside, I hope you enjoy 2,000+ words of Maui fanservice because let's face it Maui is an actual studmuffin.

Maui, shapeshifter, demigod of the wind and sea—oh, and hero to all, can’t forget that—is an unbearable egomaniac and seems determined to further convince Moana of it at every turn. He swaggers around on the canoe like he owns it. In all likelihood, he probably thinks that he does despite Moana’s insistence to the contrary. Instead of helping her, most of the time he just lounges around, eating what little food she brought onboard, criticizing every move she makes but offering little construction so she can fix it, and most of all posturing.

 

Moana isn’t sure how he endured being alone for as long as he did. His was the sort of ostentation that demanded an audience. Maybe the little living tattoo version of himself and the faceless crowds on his body got some satisfaction and responded to him flexing and posing, but their simple renditions probably couldn’t convey enough adoration to satisfy him. It’s as though he’s making up for lost time now that he has a mortal to show off to. Maui seems to have made it a goal to draw her eye with effortless displays of his physical prowess; having his pectoral muscles dance here, his biceps bulge especially there. He takes up so much space on the canoe it’s difficult to just look away from him, and he knows it.

 

All of this finally prompts Moana to tease him about how being alone for so long starved him of worship. That’s the reason he tries to show off his body to her so much, isn’t it? He wants her to fall at his feet and admire him. Instead of getting embarrassed for calling him out like she hoped, he asks whether or not she’s volunteering.

 

And now as a result of her poorly thought out attempt at a jibe, Maui sits leaned against the mast and goads her to explore his vast body and the exploits tattooed upon it.

 

“Come on, princess. This is quite the opportunity I’m offering you.”

 

“No thanks. Glorifying an infamous demigod isn’t at the top of my to-do list,” she responds, lifting her chin, then realizes he’s called her ‘princess’ again. “And that’s _chief’s daughter_.”

 

Maui tosses his head, jangling his necklace and putting his hair into something vaguely resembling array before the ocean breeze musses it again. “Well then, it’s your loss if you don’t want to get up close and personal with the one and only.”

 

With the heading of the boat in position for once and nothing to occupy herself with other than checking on Heihei—he rests under the deck and away from any potential threats due to his own dim-wittedness—Moana has to acknowledge Maui. She has no doubt that he’ll annoy her for the rest of the trip if she doesn’t indulge his egoism at least a little bit. For his part, Maui pats the deck next to him, then pats one of his quadriceps, wiggling his eyebrows.

 

Kneeling, with the irony of the position not escaping her, Moana tries to meet Maui’s gaze. He’s grinning like a smug idiot, so she looks down, only to find that the tiny tattooed rendition of Maui, who has taken up residence on his left pectoral, is also grinning. Huffing, Moana shakes her head at who she has mentally dubbed “Mini Maui” and lets her gaze drop further.

 

Moana raises a hand, then lets it hover in the air as if she’s forgotten the next sequence of movement in a dance. Her hand, work-calloused and strong, looks dainty in proximity with the wall of sinew that is Maui before it.

 

“You have no idea where to even start, do you?” Maui asks, then says, “I can’t say I blame you. There’s just too much rockin’ bod to pick from.”

 

“Something like that,” Moana says without much fire because it’s more that he’s just intimidated her and she refuses to admit it.

 

She decides to go with a part of his body that he’s least likely to flex the moment she touches it. Swallowing, Moana lowers her hand to rest on top of the dark sprawl on his belly depicting him stealing fire. She rubs her palm and fingers in a circle around his navel, feeling his sun-warmed skin. A slight initial layer of silky flab belies the firm, unyielding bedrock of muscle. Moana only has to apply a bit of pressure to feel just how strong he is even without him tensing his muscles. Biting her lip, she chances a look at up at Maui’s face.

 

For a second, his smug grin falters. He didn’t think she would actually do it, Moana realizes, just like he didn’t think she was going to cross the sea with him in tow. She sets her jaw and presses down with a little more confidence. He clenches his abdominal muscles, then, and they bulge in resistance against her hand. Moana rolls her eyes as he recovers his smile.

 

When she splays her fingers, her hand is still nowhere near able to cover up even half of the tattoo. She puts her other hand over it and she still can’t cover it.

 

Moana’s hands slide to either side of the main tattoo on his lower belly, forcing her to spread her arms open wide. His middle is thicker around than where she’s at her widest her four times over. She’d recognized from the moment Maui picked up her boat that he had the size and strength befitting a demigod, but being able to feel his girth beneath her hands is something else.

 

“Wow,” Moana murmurs without thinking.

 

Maui’s laughter makes the whole of his belly quake like gelatinous haupia underneath her hands. The canoe rocks a bit with the force of it combined with him pounding one fist on the deck.

 

“‘Wow’, she says! Looks like I’ve finally made a fan of you and all it took was letting you give ol’ Maui a belly rub.”

 

“What? No!” Moana’s cheeks burn. “You’re going to have to start rebuilding your fanbase with someone else.”

 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, number one fan.” Maui winks and then continues laughing.

 

She balls up a fist and punches his stomach with little effect to show for it aside from the tiny flames going out for a moment and the tattooed rendition of Mahuika turning a bit more aggravated than usual. Remembering something her grandmother had told her she’d once done to an obnoxious boy in her youth, she reaches up, pinches one of Maui’s nipples between forefinger and thumb, and twists it. The move is thoughtless in retrospect; Maui is not a village boy she can simply run off from after the reprimanding action, but Moana doesn’t think about that in the heat of the moment.

 

Maui stops laughing. “Ow! What the—what in the—”

 

“Oh, gods, I’m sorry,” Moana claps the offending hand over her mouth.

 

Gramma Tala would probably be proud, but Moana, for her part, wishes she hadn’t acted on impulse.

 

Once Maui gets over his surprise, she’s confronted with his more aggressive side. He grabs her arm. His massive paw of a hand covers up the entirety of her forearm. The grip is not as harsh as she expected, giving her the impression he’s holding back. She resists the urge to look away as he pulls her hand off of her face, frowning at her. Mini Maui waves his arms at Maui in an admonishing gesture but he pays him no mind.

 

“Hey,” he says in what sounds very much like an I’m-about-to-throw-you-off-the-boat-for-the-dozenth-time-if-you-don’t-listen tone to Moana, “let’s try that again, but nicer, huh?”

 

He pulls her hand back to his meaty pectoral, right over the miniature tattoo. Mini Maui wriggles under Moana’s palm like Pua when he got stuck under quilts.

 

“Be gentle with the goods. No pinching. You wouldn’t like it if I was rough with yours.” With his free hand, he flicks the side of one of her breasts, causing Moana to gasp. “But then, this isn’t about you, is it?” He grabs her other hand before she can place it over her breast and puts it over the other side of his chest, forcing her to lean over considerably to reach. “It’s all about me.”

 

“Is it?” Moana asks with no small amount of bitterness.

 

She would bring up her current status as the ocean’s chosen one but she somehow doubted it would mean any more to him than it had before.

 

Maui lets her go and folds his arms behind his head, thrusting out his chest. “Yup.”

 

He’s insufferable. It’s made worse by how good his oversized pecs feel underneath her hands, marred only by the desperate struggling under her right palm. Moana shifts her hand to let Mini Maui free. The figure gives her a look before retreating to his back. With him gone, she’s free to peruse Maui’s torso while feeling marginally less weird.

 

After a moment of deliberation over the way her body is at a sixty degree angle to reach both sides of his chest, Moana shifts one knee over until she’s straddling one of Maui’s thick legs and can sit upright. Maui more than tolerates her closeness, smirking at her as if it was his idea. Moana, attempting to maintain her dignity while sitting in such a position, redirects her attention to his tattoos.

 

As many times as she’s seen the men of her village getting tattoos, she has never had an excuse to feel them for such a prolonged period. The skin is softer than she might have guessed. The dark ink soaked up the warmth of the sun to a deeper extent than the surrounding brown skin. She traces a curved line of waves from his middle to his side. Maui chuckles deep in his chest, causing his pectorals and belly to wobble. Moana cannot contain a smile. It’s unsurprising, somehow, that he’s ticklish.

 

Moana moves on to main tattoos depicting his heroic deeds rather than the oceanic filigree around them. Despite his eyes falling shut with relaxation, he names and describes every piece she touches. He chuckles again when she spends a moment rubbing his nipples with the pads of her thumbs.

 

If this is what it takes to charm him and perhaps have him be more cooperative on their journey, Moana supposes it isn’t so bad.

 

At her behest, Maui lowers first one of his arms then the other so that she can examine them, leaving him with only his thick mane of hair to cushion his head as he leans back against the mast. Moana can tell he’s enjoying her genuine attention and interest, though he’s too comfortable to shift and show her anything on his back.

 

“Maybe next time,” Maui says, “if you ask me really nicely.”

 

He’s being pretty presumptuous assuming there will be a next time, but then, what else is new?

 

“What, do you want me to call you ‘Great Maui’ or something?”

 

“Yes, like that. Exactly like that. Minus the sarcasm.”

 

Mini Maui, apparently judging that he was no longer in any danger of being trapped, slips back onto Maui’s front. He perches on one of the many tiny islands and waves to Moana. On impulse—she seems to be full of impulse today, but then, it’s been a weird reef-crossing and storm-surviving and demigod-meeting sort of day—Moana rubs a fingertip gently over the top of Mini Maui’s head. The tattoo pantomimes surprise, then puts his hands behind his back and kicks one of his feet, smiling up at her. She imagines he would blush if he could. He’s certainly more modest than Maui himself.

 

Speaking of which, Maui crushes her to his bulk in a one-armed hug. “You’re not covering much by paying attention to him.”

 

Moana has no idea how to react to her body getting smooshed against where his stomach meets his chest. She settles for an annoyed huff and pulling her face an inch or so away because she’s truly at a loss for words. No one save for Moana’s family had ever cuddled her close like this. The newness of the sensation of a boy holding her is… well, it’s something.

 

“Um, hi? Hello? Don't space out on me. It’s not nice to keep Maui waiting.”

 

Maui is a very self-absorbed boy who’s thousands of years her senior and probably someone she wouldn’t want to keep company with if not for their quest, granted, but the fact remains that Moana is startled and not altogether displeased about him hugging her. The sun has heated them both to a pleasing degree that once combined is nigh blissful.

 

This close, she can smell him over the ever-present brininess that the ocean exudes. Most prevalent is the stench of sweat, altogether quite human, but beneath it is something else. The dusty musk of magic and ancientness and infinity that Moana had gotten a whiff of when she banged the drum in the cave on Motunui radiates from Maui. It’s as good a reminder as any that he’s powerful, even without his fishhook.

 

She finds herself humoring his wish to pay attention again to the wide expanse of his body with an indulgent rubdown of one of his pectorals, including another little pat to Mini Maui, then gives the same treatment to one his thick arms, then as much of his belly as she can reach. Surrounded by his scent, his heat, his body, Moana finds herself entranced.

 

Moana realizes she’s in awe of him just like he wanted. She drags herself back to reality as she reminds herself of his stupid, juvenile tricks. Still, reality also contains the fact that he’s got a superhumanly great body and a personality that’s boisterous and fun-loving, if not always for the better. If he could be less of a jerk sometimes, well, then she might be more inclined to give in to more impulse and allow there to be a next time to this sort of worshipfulness.

 

Presently, Moana realizes that his hug has remained and his other arm lifts up to join the first. He gives her a little squeeze. It’s the closest she thinks she’s going to get to a thank you from a proud demigod used to receiving thanks instead of giving it. Even though she knows he probably won’t recognize it distinctly amidst all of her other touches, Moana takes a moment to spread her arms as far as she can around the immensity of his middle and hugs him back.


End file.
